Raindrops on wood floors,
sly, creaking doors.
Bumps in the night,
screaming with fright.
Your blankie, grasped tight,
eyes, searching for light.
Shouting and fighting,
bawling and hiding.
You run, you cry,
but you can't deny.
He's here again,
"Come, so we can begin."
No, please stay away,
I promise, I promise I won't disobey.
You kick, you scream,
you bite, you dream.
But another night lost,
you sleep from exhaust.
Tomorrows a new day,
maybe this time he'll stay away.

There’s a clumsiness
to the way I unbutton my shirt,
hoist it over my head
and let it snuffle to the floor.

I stand there, *******
and unkempt armpit hair on display
but you’ve already almost
totally disrobed,

the light from outside
licking your spine,
dribbling down a leg
like melted sunflower petals.

We catch each other’s eyes,
except you don’t catch eyes,
you see the other person
looking at you
and you know what’s next,

the standing ****,
dry skin and bellybuttons
viewed only by a fortunate few,
a bunch of names
like grapes squashed
into bed sheets
we won’t touch again.

I think this is supposed to be sexier,
my underwear flinging off,
boxer shorts champagne cork
towards the window,
your bra sunny side up
by the foot of the door.

Rather I watch you
peer at the skin I’m in
waiting for a shrill buzzer sound,
a number out of ten
and a spatter of applause
from a conjured-up crowd.

I think you look glorious.
I go to say this but my brain feels
as though it’s been whisked.
You walk over, slink your hands
towards my face,
put an icicle finger to my lips.
I’ve no idea what I’m doing
but you’ll show me the way.

I want to softly whisper
incomplete poems
on your collar bones
that don't rhyme with anything
but your heavy breathing.

I want to bury my face
in the curves of your neck
because you smell like the winter clouds
and I've been gazing at the sky
since you left.

How close I will be to a certain death,
as the clock at my bedside strikes midnight.
There will be no prince to rescue me,
or to be kneeling on one knee the next day.
Sliding on the glass slipper I wore to the most extraordinary night of my life...
It's 12 o'clock and still I am obsolete
It's 12 o'clock and it becomes more apparent to me,
that this is it...
It's coming closer.
Loneliness creeps in, making its way through my veins.
Procuring its torturous ritual as it's done time and time again,
but this time is different.
I can feel myself drifting, fading away into the darkness.
I scream but there is no sound to be heard and no one around to hear it.
It's 12 o'clock midnight and I lay here alone in my grave,
waiting for this unknown stranger to rescue me.
My eyes adjust to the darkness,
I blink once, twice, three times...
It's the clock.
Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding...
(Darkness)

They ask me if I still love you.

I blush, grin and say;

“Of course.”

Your eyes are of the most beautiful ocean blue,

but other days they're the currents of the stormy grey sea.

They tell me a story.

I see a current of salty water, deep, once blue, but now a faded grey.

I see a bundle of darkened grey clouds in the distance,

and the thunder rumbles from within.

I hear the old cry of your eyes, pounding in my ears.

I wonder if you knew,

Did you know I could see these memories and the pain they bring you?

That I look deep into your eyes and see the pain you once endured?

I wonder if you can see mine as well, hidden beneath the dark brown and black.

Can you see the pain be wiped away by the stormy grey of your blue eyes?

Can you see my eyes lighten up from the darkness?

From the hell that they’ve lived in for so long?

I know that you love me,

but do you love me enough to keep the darkness away forever?

I can see a spark of lightening flash, only once in a while

within your ocean of blues and greys.

That’s when I can tell you’re truly happy,

Every time I see that flash of lightening I know that we were meant to be.

I. (The Upcoming Trio).

There are three.
Of course there is only one right now,
but still, there are three
and they are lurking nearby
like a daddy long legs in the corner of a bathroom;
the more they daintily move around,
the more the need to do something about it.
One is foreign, far away,
young and surrounded by superglue sticky air,
questions having already been posed.
Two will lure you in with lipstick
and teems of sienna hair
but is taken with a drink.
Three, my strangers, is a bit of an unknown,
beautiful with powder blue eyes,
somehow missed on the first of the week.
Older! Would never have guessed.
I ask myself if one out of this group
will join the list of failures-to-be
with their own letters
or flowers
or stories
serving up rich reminders
of amateurish errors.

II. (The Summer’s End).

Before we all enter fall
some actions must occur.
A chat with five of those stepping up
into the world of small rooms,
nights out
and a lack of coins.
A reunion with linguists
for a talk and some tea
after over a year
since food in the market.
There’s also him
before he goes off to learn to teach,
P who had results last time round,
her with guy issues,
a fan of shoes
and the one above the rest
incapable of any words.
Good times ahead
with friends I hold dear
that ought to take place
before we all enter fall.

III. (The Procrastinator).

A ******, a waste
and a bag of mice on the floor.
Newspapers
under every little helps.
Really must be done
now,
now,
but no,
later,
tomorrow,
weekend,
why?
You haven’t gone back yet
to the days of park crossing.
Sort it out mate,
clear some space.
No more than an hour, tops.
How do you expect
to get anything done
if you don’t get up from the chair
and begin to move?

An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king, –
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn, – mud from a muddy spring, –
Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know,

But leech-like to their fainting country cling,
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow, –
A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field, –
An army, which liberticide and prey

Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield, –
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay;
Religion Christless, Godless – a book sealed;

A Senate, – Time’s worst statute unrepealed, –
Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst, to illumine our tempestous day.

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;--
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
  
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee--
With a love that the wingèd seraphs in Heaven
Coveted her and me.
  
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wing blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.
  
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me:--
Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud, by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
  
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we--
And neither the angels in Heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:--
  
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling,--my darling,--my life and my bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea--
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

So, we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath
And the soul wears out the breast
And a heart must pause to breathe
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving
And the day returns too soon,
Yet, we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.